Out of the Ashes
by Scarlett Phoenix
Summary: What if Flint had died in the watery depths in the Primordial Plot episode?


Disclaimers? Must I? Okay, I know CMA. I don't own or profit from GI Joe or its characters.

AN: Thank you Storm O for your beta-reading service!

Background note: In "Primordial Plot", Flint's plane is shot down and goes underwater. He survives, but not until after Scarlett and Gung Ho give up hope. What if things went differently, and Flint perished in that underwater grave?

**Out of the Ashes **

A lovely, shorthaired brunette walked down the hallway adorned with family photographs towards her nine-year-old son's room. She rubbed her reddened eyes as she opened the door and stepped quietly to his bedside. Leaning down and gently tugging his arm, she spoke softly, "Dash, honey, it's time to wake up."

Dashiell Roderick Faireborn, Jr. stretched his arms and yawned. After receiving a few more shoves and having the blankets yanked off him by his mother, he moaned, "Okay, I'm up momma."

"Get showered and dressed and then come downstairs," Alison grinned, knowing it was earlier than they normally woke up on Saturdays. "Today's our trip, remember?" she asked, watching her son's reaction.

"Yes, I know," Dashiell yawned, sitting up. "Momma, please go so I can get ready," he fussed.

Alison nodded and went downstairs to finish reading the paper and re-vacuum the carpets; the noise helped greatly to distract her from her gloomy thoughts. As she put the sweeper back in the laundry room, she heard her son grumbling in the kitchen.

"Mom, where's the Frosted Flakes?" Dash griped, slamming the cabinet door.

"Dash!" His mother firmly stated. "There's no need for that tone of voice or treating our cabinets like that. Tony's right here," she said, opening the pantry door and pulling out the mostly blue box. She smiled as she poured both of them a bowl and added the milk. She sat down at the table across from her son, watching him jab at his cereal. They laughed at the sounds of the crunching flakes, the drops of milk splattering on the table.

Alison looked over her son's appearance. Clothes were clean and pressed; shirt tucked in, and he even wore his belt. His dark brown, wavy hair was gelled down to prevent the unmanageable ends from flying away, the same problem she had with her own hair, and thus preferring the short hairdos she wore. After she rinsed off their bowls and spoons and placed them in the dishwasher, she wiped the table with a damp rag. Having finished cleaning up their small mess, Alison tossed the rag into the sink and took a seat on the couch next to her son. "So, how was school yesterday?" she asked, not interested in the cartoon he had selected.

"Just fine," Dash answered, keeping his eyes on the television set. Feeling his mother's glare, he continued, "I got an 'A' on my spelling test, and Mr. McGregor said we get to swim all next week for gym."

"All next week?" Alison repeated, arching her eyebrow.

Anxiously, Dash answered, "Yes."

"What about your other classes and your friends?"

"Our geography project is due next Wednesday. I'm almost finished. We learned about molecules in science, and Ms. Smith is going to be out next week," Dash rambled, talking as fast as he could.

Alison grinned, loving that her son would open up to her. "Mrs. Smith is your math teacher, the pregnant one, right?"

Dash nodded affirmatively. "We're supposed to have a sub for six weeks. I hope they get a good one. Mrs. Jacobson or Mr. Wringham would be nice."

"I know," was his mother's reply. Her son had both substitute teachers throughout his third and fourth grade years and could not stop talking about them. Both seemed to have a wonderful rapport with the children and faculty, doing more than just babysitting the class. "It's time to go," Alison informed as the cartoon ended, wondering why she allowed him to watch that type of show, but also thinking that there really wasn't anything _wrong _with it; it simply wasn't something she preferred to watch.

Dash rose from his seat and followed his mother out to their green Honda CRV. "Fasten your seatbelt," his mother reminded. Satisfied when she heard the two clicks, she slowly backed out of their driveway, catching a glimpse of her son's face in the rearview mirror. _Is that a new freckle_, she wondered silently.

Before they left town, Alison pulled into a gas station to fill up the SUV. "Momma, can I go in with you and pick out a drink?" Dash asked, hopefully.

"Dash," Alison started to deny the request; however, as his brown eyes widened and he appeared as though he would start pleading. Her heart melted, and she sighed, "Okay."

Hand in hand, they walked into the store. Dash picked out a cherry coke slush from the fountain section, taking a drink before his mother paid for it. "Dash!" She reprimanded as she handed the clerk her credit card. Having signed the sales receipt, they returned to the CRV. "You're going have to let me play dot-to-dot with your freckles someday," she teased playfully, opening the door for her son to climb into the vehicle.

"Mom," Dash whined, rolling his eyes, as he buckled his seatbelt again. He took a sip of his slush and set it in the cup holder. He stared out the window, thinking about their destination, letting a small grin slide across his face as they drove by the park where he and his mother had gone on a picnic the weekend prior. They packed his favorites: peanut butter and grape jelly sandwich, cut diagonally into two triangles, a bag of Twisted Cheetos, two apples, and two cans of Vanilla Cherry Dr. Pepper. The combination of flavors had confused his taste buds, and he didn't know if he liked the new concoction or not.

Alison turned her head to look at the traffic on either side of her. As she did, she saw the grin on Dash's face, his big, brown eyes staring out the window. For a moment, she pictured him approximately thirty years older and gasped; mentally picturing it was her husband in the backseat, not their son. _"I never realized how much he looked like him,"_ she thought silently, her mouth slightly open. Looking to the empty passenger seat, she sobbed as quietly as she could, hoping her son would not notice her sadness to which he was very sensitive.

Arlington National Cemetery lay just down the road ahead of them. Both were in awe as they caught glimpses of the perfectly aligned rows of white tombstones from their car. Alison pulled the CRV into a parking spot, taking a moment to gain her composure before she stepped outside. "Mom, you alright?" a timid voice asked from behind her, wondering what the delay was. His mother was usually quick to get in and out of the car.

"Yes," she sighed, opening her door. She carefully hid her purse under her seat, taking only her keys. "If anyone breaks into the car, here of all places, so help me God," she ranted. "Ready?" She asked, holding out her hand.

Dash nodded and took his mother's hand as they began to walk away from their vehicle. Alison hit the button on her remote to secure the CRV, listening for the tones. Soon, they approached Flint's grave, stopping a few feet from it. Dash squeezed his mother's hand tighter, trying to read her thoughts. "Mom?" he asked, wondering if he should stand still or guide her closer.

Alison stood still in a daze, praying she would not break down, not in front of her son, the one person whom she was supposed to support, not the other way around. From the time he was born, she was determined that he would not become an adult any earlier than he needed; she wanted him to enjoy his childhood. Nevertheless, circumstances dictated otherwise, and Dash grew up much faster than she had hoped, partly due to his father's premature death. With eyes full of compassion, Dash gently tugged his mother's arm to get her attention.

"Oh," Alison sighed, looking at her son. She took a few steps towards the grave and knelt, while Dash sat on the ground beside her. "We love you and miss you, Dashiell, my husband," Alison sobbed.

"Here momma," Dash whispered, handing his mother a tissue he dug out of her purse.

Alison dabbed her eyes and continued speaking as if her husband was right in front of her, while allowing the tears to flow freely from her eyes. "You would be proud of Junior. He's growing up to be a wonderful child. He reminds me of you more and more with each passing day. Dash, love, I wish you were here to see him mature into a young man, but we know you were doing something that needed to be done and are watching over us through the holes in Heaven's floors.

"We found your guitar this spring in one of the closets. We were reluctant to open it, but Junior was very intrigued by it and asked if he could have it, which I agreed. He treasures it. Besides, it's such a waste to keep it stored. We went to the music store and signed him up for lessons. He practices every night and is doing very well. He knows several songs now.

"When we went to Wichita to see your family this past summer, he took it with us and played with your dad and uncles. They adore him so. They played music until two in the morning when Junior finally fell asleep in the middle of a song. Your dad and Uncle Keith put up the guitar. My heart melted as I watched them carry him to bed and tuck him in. After they left, I went in and gave him a goodnight kiss, being careful not to wake him. He stirred and murmured 'I love you, momma'. Not a night has gone by when he hasn't told me that at least once."

Alison placed the tear-drenched tissue back into her purse and pulled out a fresh one to wipe her eyes. She panicked slightly, noticing her son was no longer sitting next to her but saw that he had wondered off a few headstones over. "Don't go too far," she cautioned. "I'll only be a little longer."

"Yes, momma," Dash replied, walking to another row, reading the inscriptions as he slowly made his way back.

Alison looked up to the clear blue sky, the sun-warmed air caressing the bare skin on her arms and legs as the gentle breeze blew across the field. She inhaled the fresh country scent, picking up a faint familiar smell of her husband's favorite cologne, Davidoff's Cool Water. She looked to see a young man standing over another grave a few yards away.

"Dash, dear, I have to be honest with you. There are times I still blame Shana and Ettienne for your death. Why didn't they go in after you? They had weapons and could have freed you in time, but I know if it were even remotely possible for them to rescue you, they would have. There was no telling what harmful creatures might have been in the water, and your SkyStriker was on fire, ready to explode at any second. I still remember the long faces they bore when they returned to base and wondered what was wrong since I had been told they succeeded in recovering Dr. Massey. Hawk knew something went horribly wrong… damn it, Dash! He knew and did not tell me until after the debriefing. I was your wife! I had a right to know!" She yelled angrily as she buried her head in her hands. Her son was too engrossed learning the names of the various men and women who died serving their country to notice his mother's distraught state.

Calming down, Alison continued, "I know we talked about it, the dangers of our chosen careers, but none of that prepared me for when it really happened. I had my hopes set on spending the rest of our lives together, growing old with you, sitting on the front porch watching our childr… son and grandchildren and possible great grandchildren play. Now, I have to do that without you. I tried dating a few times since we buried you, but I learned very soon that no one could ever take your place. You are my soul mate, Dash, my other half. I feel like a piece of me died along with you."

She looked to make sure her son was still within eyesight and hearing distance. A smile fought its way onto her face as she watched him read the inscriptions with interest. She looked around at the hundreds of polished white tombstones, each representing veterans and/or their dependants. She muttered a sincere "Thank you" to all of them.

Hearing the faint sounds of Taps, she stood, looking to see where it was coming from. Images of her husband's funeral played before her eyes. She cried remembering how nervous Shana and Ettienne appeared when they approached her to offer their condolences that sunny August morning, ten years ago.

"Dash, that's far enough," she called out to her son, who turned to see that he had wondered a good distance from his father's grave. Immediately, he obeyed his mother and made his way back towards her.

Alison returned her attention to her one-sided conversation. "Dash, we need to get going, but I had to stop by here today and talk to you. We're going to see Shana and the new baby. She had a girl, Jasmine Renée. Conrad called yesterday morning from the hospital, saying they expected her to deliver sometime that night. He almost slipped and said he was looking forwarding to seeing us, Junior, me, and you. He took your death very hard also, almost to the point of ruining what he had with Shana. Not only did he depend on you to fill in for him professionally when he was away, he considered you his best friend. I am happy for them, Dash, despite my jealousies. I know I shouldn't think thoughts like that. They've waited for so long to have this child." She paused, fidgeting with her Kleenex.

"Dash," Alison choked. "If it was necessary for you to pass on, I can only be thankful that you left me with the best gift I could ever ask for, our son. Truthfully, I do not know what I would have done without him. He is the reason I get out of bed every morning and live as full of a life as I can without you by my side. I overhead him saying his bedtime prayers last night. He prays for everything from us to Gerry, his pet gerbil, to his school and friends. Knowing that today was the tenth anniversary of your funeral, he concentrated his prayers on us. Even though he never had a chance to know you and only knows you through pictures and stories, he really loves you and misses you. It hurts to see other boys play ball with their dad. I have cried oceans of tears inwardly for him. Several of the team have stepped up, becoming the male role-models that he so desperately needs, but it's still not the same as having you around."

Feeling her son's young hand on her shoulder, she quickly recomposed herself and gathered her strength. She smiled, perceiving his innocent nature. Rising to her feet, she said her goodbyes to her husband, kissing her hand and placing it against his carved name. Alison made her way back to the CRV, holding little Dash's hand. Reaching for the door handle, she turned her head back towards Flint's grave and softly mumbled, "I love you, Dash.

"I love you, Daddy," Dash whispered, turning around to see the vast acreage of graves, focusing in on his father's before climbing in the SUV.

Changing the sentiment of that morning, Alison asked in a cheery voice as she watched to ensure her son was buckled in. "Ready to go see Uncle Conrad and Auntie Shana and baby Jasmine?"

Dash's face lit up. "Yes, momma. Let's go," he answered excitedly, looking out the window as they drove away from the cemetery. "I love you Daddy," he repeated.


End file.
